Madigan

by R. Howard Trembly

  Beside the Pleasure Palace was a makeshift corral, while a loafing shed stood to one side. Inside the corral were six horses with various brands. Some of the brands he recognized as being from large Texas spreads known for their rough ways and tough men-men that didn’t think twice about leaving with one of the ranch’s cow ponies.

  Madigan had no doubt that these were the horses of the hombres that had followed the two men several nights back. An uneasy feeling crept through Madigan as he realized the potential for disaster if he got careless for even a minute.

  Madigan took a last look along the street while he patted the buckskin on the neck. “Hope there’s more than one livery in town,” he told the big horse, “or we might be in a little trouble.”

  Reining the big horse around, he started out of the alley when a noise caught his attention; it came from somewhere above. He froze, a reaction borne of years as an army scout. Two stories above, a window was raised and he could hear voices and laughter coming from inside. Suddenly a basin of water was thrown out the open window, followed shortly by a woman’s face peering down. The water spattered on the ground a few feet away from Madigan. The woman’s face was quickly withdrawn and Madigan wondered why people threw things first, then looked to see if anyone was below.

  Another sound caught his attention, and he looked up again just in time to see the face of a man retreat out of sight at the same window. He only got a look at it for an instant before the face vanished back into the room. But it was enough for him to know that it was the same man he had clobbered in the moonlight several nights back.

  Not being able to see the front of the building, Madigan surmised it must be another saloon or cheap boarding house. Most men on the move didn’t have much money to spend on room and board, and most of them liked to wash the trail dust out of their throats after a long ride, so there were always cheap rooms to be had close to one or more of the saloons in town. Sometimes the rooms were right in the saloon itself and many had girls available for the price of a few drinks. Madigan made a mental note to stay clear of this end of town.

  Riding down the back street, his packhorse in tow, he soon came to the back side of a livery stable. There was a small corral in back and into this Madigan unsaddled and put the horses. He had just closed the gate when an old man with snowy white hair appeared from nowhere carrying a sawed-off twelve-gauge.

  “Can I get them some corn, stranger?” he asked. The man had come on him like a cat stalks a mouse, taking Madigan totally unaware. In a flash too quick for the eye to follow, he palmed his Colt.

  “No need for that, mister!” the old man said. “Wouldn’t do you no good anyhow; you shoot me and Bertha here goes off and cuts you in two. And we’d both be sorrier for the experience! This here sawed-off’s got the triggers tied back and only my thumb is keeping the hammer from fallin’! Why, if I was just to twitch a little she’s bound to go off! Be too bad if you happened to be standing in front of her when she did,” the old man grinned. “Now about that corn, do you want ‘em to have some or not?”

  “Sorry, old-timer. “I’m just a little tired and edgy. Had me some trouble back up the trail a ways.” Madigan dropped the Colt back into the holster. “Meant you no harm.”

  The old man took a long look, then spoke. “What kind of trouble you talking about? Now be sure of what you say, stranger. The information’s for me and me alone.”

  Madigan wasn’t in the habit of telling others his business or, for that matter, his problems. But there’s something about looking down the twin barrels of a sawed-off twelve-gauge that loosens a man’s tongue a mite, especially when the man holding that twelve-gauge looks to mean business.

  So Madigan told him about the men chasing him after he was forced to kill one of them in self-defense and of having to knock another man out to keep him from bushwhacking two other men. All the while the old man kept the shotgun leveled at Madigan’s midsection.

  After Madigan was through, the old man shifted his weight to the other foot and said, “You say you shot a couple out of their saddles at near half a mile? Only one man I heard tell that could shoot like that, but never heard much about him being quick with a short gun. From what I just saw, you’re one of the fastest men I’ve ever seen with a Colt and I’ve seen plenty in my time.” The old man hesitated while he spit out a wad of chew, never taking his eyes off Madigan or letting the shotgun waver. “Ain’t always owned this stable, you know. Used to be marshal up to the rim country of Montana and parts east.”

  Madigan took a long, slow breath. He had guessed right about this old man. He was more than capable of letting the hammer drop. Something Madigan had seen in the old man’s eyes had warned him that even though the man was old, he was still somebody to be reckoned with. Madigan hoped he could keep the man on his side.

  “Used to be fast with a side gun myself, but gotten too old now,” the old man said. “Cant’ see worth a darn. Never figured to live this long, so now I’ve got to use this.” He shook the shotgun just enough to make his point, but not enough to take it out of Madigan’s belly.

  Suddenly Madigan felt tired. “Old man, you going to shoot me or what? I’ve been in the saddle all day and I’d like to find an outhouse before I mess my jeans!” The old man laughed a little but never relaxed the shotgun.

  “I might shoot you yet, depends on who you say you are.” There was a question in what the man had just said and Madigan took no time in answering.

  “I’m Sam Madigan,” he replied. The old man stood firm.

  “You can prove that?” he asked.

  “I can. I’ve got my army papers in my pack.”

  “Never mind the pack. You could have a gun hid there. Show me your rifle, the one you did the long-range shooting with!”

  “It’s in my pack also, right at the top, covered with a leather sheath.”

  “Get it with your left hand, real slow. Remember this here’s got a tied back trigger. It’s a wonder she hasn’t gone off before now with all the bull we’ve been spreading.”

  Madigan carefully untied the corner of the pack and lifted it with his left hand, going slowly as not to upset the old man. “It’s right here in this cover,” Madigan said as he slid the.50–90 from its hiding place.

  “That’s enough!” the old man said. “Only one man I heard of carries a Sharps with a black walnut stock and a silver butt plate.” He lowered his shotgun, letting the hammers down slowly, then held out his hand to Madigan. “Welcome to town, Mr. Madigan.”

  “Call me Sam. What do I call you?”

  “Most folks only call me to supper any more,” the old man laughed. “My name’s Talley, Roy Talley. Late of this place, but in my younger days I ramrodded some pretty tough towns along the way as town marshal. Then old age came creepin’ at my door, and well, you know how people are. They think when you get a little older you can’t hold your own any more.” Talley looked down at the shotgun in his hands.

  “Sometimes they just get smarter. I did up till a few years ago, then I started to forget things. Little things at first, things that didn’t matter much, then bigger things that could get me or someone killed. So I came here, bought myself the livery and settled in.”

  Madigan could see a sadness on Roy’s face, so said nothing, just waited for the old-timer to talk again.

  “Some of those things I kept forgetting were things like loading my guns. Ever faced a man in a gunfight when your gun was empty?” the old lawman asked.

  “No, can’t say I have.”

  “Well, I did once. Only I didn’t know my gun was empty. Just cleaned it an hour before and had forgotten to reload it!” the old marshal said, shaking his head.

  “What happened?” Madigan wanted to know.

  “A coyote of a gunslinger called me out in the street. We faced off about a hundred feet away and he drew iron. I was pretty darn fast in those days and before he could clear leather I had my gun leveled on him.

  To this day I don’t know why I didn’t pull the tri
gger. Anyhow, he just froze and we faced each other for what must have been two minutes before he let his gun fall back in its holster, then he turned on his heel and walked to his horse and left. Something inside told me not to press the matter and I didn’t. Later I discovered my gun was empty.” Talley chuckled to himself. “I turned my badge in that night and rode away a big man in that town just as I had in countless others. Only this time it was for keeps.

  “Been a good life and even though Durango’s a rough and tumble town, I’ve been at peace here. I only get my dander up when someone comes sneakin’ round my place in the dark.”

  Madigan looked at the old marshal and deep down inside felt sorry for him. Many good men had been used up by the wild towns of the West, only to be cast aside when his usefulness ended. It wasn’t like a banker that retired, a respected member of the town. When a town marshal got too old for the job, there was nothing left but to leave town so that the new man taking over didn’t feel like his toes were being stepped on.

  Some of them, like Talley, were lucky enough to have saved some money, not easy to do on a marshal’s salary. They bought themselves a small ranch or farm and settled in to live a less trying life than they had been used too. Some liked it, some didn’t.

  Others, with no money and no place to go, simply rode out of town a few miles and put a gun to their head. In a way, they were striking back at the town that had deserted them, for there would be a funeral and the townspeople would know what they had done. To most it made no difference, but to a few it was enough of a shock that they started small retirement funds for future peace officers in their later years. In time things would change, but for now many a man who had given his best for years looked forward to old age with fear. Madigan was glad that Talley had been one of those with a future, for in him Madigan could see many aspects of himself.

  “Well, I’ll be darned!” Talley said, shaking his head. Madigan looked at the old marshal wondering what was next. “I did it again!” he said, showing Madigan the shotgun that was now open, exposing two empty barrels.

  “I’d suggest you check it every so often just to be sure it’s loaded,” Madigan advised him. “Never know when you might need to pull the trigger and you’ll want to hear more than just a click when you do.” Roy Talley looked at Madigan with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Try to remember that, but I’ll not have to worry about much if that happens, at least not for long. Now, Mr. Madigan, what I really want to know is, should I give your horses some corn or not?”

  “Give them grain,” Madigan answered.

  Chapter 9

  Madigan watched as Talley led the horses into a well-cleaned stall out of sight of the casual passerby. He had no reservations about leaving the buckskin and packhorse with the old marshal. They would be well taken care of, no doubt, and he was glad to have the opportunity to meet this once-legendary lawman of a day that Madigan was sure was fast coming to a close.

  Rights of citizens to carry a gun for their own protection had already been taken from them in some of the eastern cities like New York, although most men still carried them hidden under their coats.

  And Madigan had to admit that the basis for the law wasn’t altogether bad in some places-places where a strong lawman did a good job of protecting the townspeople. Trouble was, there just weren’t many places where a few men could protect the whole. And Madigan, like many of his breed, feared that in the end it would be the law-abiding people that lost out to the politicians that would take all from them.

  Disarming the population just made it easier for the crook to steal from, and murder, the honest men and women. Yet, deep down in his heart, he knew the day was coming where the honest men and women carrying a sidearm would be a thing of the past if something wasn’t done to prevent it. Madigan hoped it would not come within his lifetime.

  “By the way,” Madigan asked, “where did you learn that trick of tying the trigger back?”

  “There was a time when I was young and ornery enough to bite a rattlesnake. Got somethin’ in my head in those days, and a person would be hard put to change me from it.

  “Some Texas drovers came to town at the end of a drive and got all liquored up. Most of the time the trail boss kept ‘em out of trouble, but not this time. A real hard case outfit this bunch was.

  “Couple of the boys got into it with one of the men from town. If I remember right, he was just crossin’ the street when, for no other reason than pure meanness, one of these hombres started a fight with him. It came to fist and before you know it, the drover was down for the count and everything should have been over. ‘Cept the drover and his friend didn’t see it that way. They ambushed the townsmen and shot him in the back. Good man he was, too. Had a wife and child and was respected.”

  The old lawman looked Madigan straight in the eye. “Now I’m no bleeding heart, but after I jailed these murderous cutthroats I started hearing talk of lynching my prisoners.

  “Didn’t give a damn about the jailbirds, it was the good townspeople I was worried about. Lynching’s bad business. If they were to get caught and have to go before the wrong judge, they’d stand a chance of gettin’ the noose themselves.

  I decided to get the prisoners to the county seat for trial, but it was a full day’s ride and there was only one of me to do the job. And to make matters worse, I knew that I stood a good chance of being met on the trail by some of their friends. And that’s what happened a couple of hours out of town, but I was ready for them.” The old man laughed like someone remembering something funny from the past.

  “They rode out in front of us and blocked the trail and just waited for us to ride up to them. You should have seen their faces when they saw I’d tied the triggers down and only my thumb was holding both of the hammers back! I’d had the blacksmith bend both hammer spurs so they came together at full cock, so it was real easy to hold ‘em back with one hand.

  “At close range a sawed-off double-barrel makes a hell of a mess and these boys knew it. Didn’t take ‘em long to figure what would happen to their friends if I took a bullet. They just rode off sayin’ they’d get ‘em out of jail in the next town or somethin’ to the like. Didn’t though. They both swung the next day at noon, with nary a sight of the boys that were to save ‘em.”

  “That’s quite a story, old-timer, and I’d say you were known for that Greener like I’m known for my Sharps! And if I remember right, they called you ‘Shotgun Talley’ after that,” Madigan said.

  “You’re right on that account.”

  “Where’s the best place for a tired man to stay the night?” Madigan asked Roy when he came out from feeding the animals. He waited as Talley scratched his head, then took a bite from his plug of tobacco.

  “There’s always the Palace down the other end of town. It’s got rotgut and women who’ll spend the night with a lonely man for the price of a few drinks and a short meal. Course, you wouldn’t get much rest and would probably have a fight on your hands before the night was over!”

  “Why’s that, Roy?” Madigan asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Like I said before, there’s five or six real bad looking boys staying down there. My years as a lawman taught me to tell the real bad ones, and they’re about as mean as they come! Now if you don’t mind a short ride, there’s Anny’s Hotel about a mile down the road. She doesn’t allow no booze or women, but the rooms are clean and the food’s the best anywhere within two days’ ride of here. Hell, within a week’s ride to be sure! Got her an Injun girl that does some of the cookin’ and I’m tellin’ ya, man, it’s the best I ever ate! Why every time that girl’s not working, I just about starve to death trying to eat my own grub,” he said with a look of disgust. “I’ll be heading that way in a few minutes so you can ride with me. In the morning just tell Anny to hoist up the flag and I’ll send old Errand Boy out to fetch you back here.”

  “I’m a pretty early riser, and I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone to come and get me. I can just walk,”
Madigan said, but like most Western men of his time, not really liking the idea.

  “Wouldn’t hear of it and neither would Errand Boy! No matter what time you want to come in, he’ll be rarin’ to go.”

  “Must be some kind of man to do that,” Madigan remarked.

  The old gentleman chuckled. “Ain’t no man. He’s a horse! Anny and I trained him to walk back and forth from the livery to her hotel. He knows when he gets there he’ll get a bait of corn for his trouble. Saves me from having to drop what I’m doing to ride over.”

  Madigan was curious about something, knowing the type of men that frequented the area, so he voiced his curiosity.

  “Aren’t you afraid someone will steal him some night?”

  “Hell, no! It’s been tried! The fellow who took him didn’t know his way around these parts and that horse just kept edging his way back towards town, came in from a different direction. That poor boy thought it was a different town altogether. Didn’t think so when we threw ‘em in jail. Yep! That horse really likes his corn!”

  Remembering the face in the window, the idea of staying at Anny’s seemed like a good idea. “How long before you’ll be ready to go?”

  “Just as soon as I feed and water the rest of the stock. I’d say not more than fifteen minutes at the most. You got time for a quick look around if you got the desire. I’ll wait for you before I head out.”

  Madigan thanked Roy and stepped into the darkness of the alley. He wasn’t about to walk out in the light from the windows until he was sure all was quiet. There was no way he could be sure that he hadn’t been recognized by the man in the window when he looked out on Madigan from above.

  All appeared peaceful on Main Street, yet he felt an uneasiness about him, such as when one is in the woods and has the feeling of being watched, yet has no foundation for feeling that way. It has been said that it is caused by some primeval sense that we all still carry within ourselves, a throwback to our beginnings when we were often the hunted and not the hunter.